


pretty

by naruhoe



Series: humanformers AU [2]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, Humanformers!AU, M/M, Oral Sex, Restraints, Transformers as Humans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-10 01:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naruhoe/pseuds/naruhoe
Summary: Sunstreaker thinks he knows what he wants. Ironhide would beg to the contrary.





	pretty

"_hah_\- 'Hide, come _on_!"

Another sloppy kiss pressed to the base of his cock. Another sweep of the tongue across his weeping slit. Sunstreaker's fingers clenched into useless fists, either hand grabbing a fistful of spongy couch cushion. There's an uncomfortably sticky feeling to the region of his lower back where the thin, damp fabric of his shirt is resolutely sticking to his skin, but in his current state, Sunstreaker can't really bring himself to care about much more than the sight of Ironhide's lips closing sloppily over the flushed head of his cock. Rough fingers prod at his perineum before they move to loosely cup his balls, drawing a whine from the frontliner.

"Down, boy." Hide's commanding voice' takes him by surprise, and the frontliner freezes with sullen blue eyes, hand halfway through the motion of reaching for Ironhide with the full intention of burying his fingers in the short hair there and pulling him further onto his cock. Sulkily, Sunstreaker withdraws the errant limb, fisting his fingers in the cushions by his thighs again. Thus forbidden from touching, or doing anything else, for that matter, he settles for staring heatedly at the remaining inch of spit-shiny flesh between Ironhide's lips and the root of his throbbing cock. Sunstreaker imagines -rather viciously- dusky gold pubic hair grinding against his superior's nose.

"-nn!" Grey-blue eyes lock onto his, catching Sunstreaker's attention with that inexorable gaze and the hot, silky pressure of a throat rippling around- no, _massaging _-his cock. Ironhide somehow manages a smirk despite the good 7 inches of cock lodged down his throat. "Fuck." Sunny mutters, baby blues narrowing and a hiss escaping him as 'Hide does it _again_. This time, the frontliner is unable (and unwilling) to stop the stutter of his hips. It pushes his cock up against the back of Ironhide's throat, and the following pleasure as the other man's throat squeezes around him is almost enough to distract him from the soft glide of calloused fingertips across his hole, so soft as to be almost unnoticeable. 

"Cool your jets, kid." Says Ironhide, pulling off. His voice more than a little hoarse, and pitched between commanding and placating, though it doesn't quite hide the amusement in his tone as Sunstreaker's rumbling growl immediately cuts off. "Ain't gonna do noting but touch." But the fingers stay there, a warm, circling pressure.

To Sunstreaker's immense disappointment, Ironhide does not put his mouth back on Sunstreaker's cock, leaving him out to dry. It twitches in response to the temperature change, but Sunstreaker finds himself fixated on just how _messy _'Hide is. The strings of drool from the earlier facefuck have since been wiped off onto the back of the man's hand, but in that moment, his chin is shiny with saliva and Sunstreaker notes with a smirk of satisfaction that those grey eyes are just a little watery at the corners.

Unlike Sunstreaker, whose pants have since come to rest around his ankles, Ironhide is still mostly dressed, a fact which becomes apparent when he stands with a shrug of those powerful shoulders. Coarse hair, just beginning to grey, pokes out of the low neck of the man's undershirt, and his muscular calves are enveloped in combat boots. However, the sudden shift in posture has put the intimidating bulge in the front of the man's uniform trousers at eye level for Sunstreaker.

"What're ya smiling at, soldier?" 'Hide suddenly asks, tone authoritative. "Something funny, huh?"

The frontliner opens his mouth to make a suitably acerbic reply, but the words get lost somewhere between his brain and the back of his throat when Ironhide's hands drop to his belt, those calloused fingers unbuckling it deftly, sliding the supple length of it through the loops with the smooth _slide_ of leather against fabric. Sunstreaker closes his mouth, the knob of his throat bobbing as he swallows. Then, he realizes that 'Hide's looking at him. _Really_ looking at him, grey eyes narrowed in one of those uncanny stares that Sunstreaker has learned to dread. Like the first time he'd separated Sunstreaker from his twin for some good old-fashioned combat practice then proceeded to take both of them apart at the seams, or the time after a minor skirmish that he'd noticed that Sideswipe was -ever so subtly!- limping and carried him off to the Medbay despite either twin's denials.

You know._ That_ look.

"Y'see something ya like, Sunshine?" Hide's rumbling voice draws Sunstreaker back to the present. He doesn't need to think twice to re-affix his trademark scowl in response to the nickname, but Ironhide is still standing there, just an arms' length away, and he has the belt in his hands, loosely looped twice around his left while he casually rests his thumb on the plain silver buckle with the right. "Don't call me that." Even to Sunstreaker's ears, the token response sounds tinny... almost weak.

'Hide steps forward. One step. Two. Sunstreaker can't bring himself to tear his eyes from the length of black leather looped oh-so-casually around the other man's hands, the gleam of silver beneath Hide's calloused fingertips. Ironhide is now close enough to touch- when had he gotten that close?? Blue eyes go wary, just starting to narrow, but Sunstreaker's sudden tensing-up is interrupted by the weapon specialist's commanding tones. "Hands out, Sunshine. Wrists up." 'Hide says, grey eyes unreadable, but when Sunstreaker looks up at him, there's a _knowingness_ to those eyes that says 'Trust me.' So he does. 

Sunstreaker keeps his eyes on Ironhide's as he slowly (<strike>uncertainly</strike>) extends his hands, wrist-up as he was told. Cobalt blue on gunmetal gray. The other man's hands are warm as they brush against his skin, warmer than he'd expected- or is it that Sunstreaker is cold? He doesn't linger long on the thought, instead choosing to watch with increasingly hazy blue eyes as 'Hide carefully loops the belt twice around his wrists and pushes the tapered end through the silver horseshoe of the belt loop. Sunny inhales sharply when Ironhide tugs the loop tight, not tight enough to cut off circulation but _just so_. It's a firm, unyielding pressure that, once Sunstreaker tests his strength against it, barely more than a little tug, doesn't budge an inch. Because Ironhide's holding it. Ironhide is right there, watching him with those intense gunmetal eyes as he holds the end of the belt. Then, never taking his eyes from Sunstreaker's face, 'Hide tugs the belt forward, an obvious command for Sunstreaker to come forward off of the couch. Sunny feels his knees go slightly weak, but provides the token resistance, lip curling as he pulls backwards against the command, all-too-aware of how achingly hard he is.

Ironhide's resulting smirk is as provocative as they come, a challenging smile that sparks a gleam in those grey eyes of his. A moment later, Sunny yelps as 'Hide literally _pulls_ him forward, unbalancing him off of the edge of the sofa in such a way that he's forced to grab at the other man's knees in order to keep himself from overbalancing facefirst onto the floor. Ironhide has the nerve to chuckle. Sunstreaker's ears burn. The bastard's enjoying this- of course he is, but when Sunstreaker looks up, a cutting remark on his lips, Ironhide is unbuttoning the front of his pants scarce inches away from Sunstreaker's face. Face burning, the frontliner looks away, but his eyes catch on the leather looped about his wrists, and he feels his breath hitch.

_zzziip._

With a heavy sigh, Ironhide gives the belt some slack and sidesteps Sunstreaker to take a seat on the edge of the sofa with a rumbling sigh. "C'mere, kid." Sunstreaker looks up immediately, bristling. Ironhide is smirking down at him, patting his thigh with his free hand. "Not a kid." Sunstreaker grouches. His eyes linger on the jut of Ironhide's cock at the apex of his legs, thick and flushed- thicker than Sunstreaker's even though 'Hide's only half hard. "Yeah?" 'Hide asks indulgently. Sunstreaker only bristles more. If there's one thing he can't stand, it's being patronized. 

He stands. Upon standing, both of them realize the conundrum that is the fact that Sunstreaker's legs are still tangled in his pants, haphazardly shoved halfway down his thighs earlier. Sunstreaker, looking down, feels himself start to flush more, half irritation, half embarrassment. This has to be the longest tryst he's ever had with Ironhide. And he hasn't even gotten off yet! Ironhide's sigh cuts through Sunstreaker's irritated interior monologue. "Just- _c'mere_," And with a yelp, he finds himself tugged forward into 'Hide's lap.

Ironhide is efficient, singlemindedly ridding Sunstreaker first of his shoes, then the annoying pants, both of which he tosses behind the couch without a backwards look- much to Sunstreaker's indignation, but he doesn't have the time to be indignant, not when 'Hide is effortlessly pulling him into his lap, his legs on either side of Ironhide's thighs, his wrists still very much restrained by the thick leather belt; his cock juts up against his stomach, as does Ironhide's, and when they brush, Sunstreaker bites down on the inside of his cheek rather than let the low moan escape him. He scarcely has time to appreciate the handsome lines of his wrists under the leather or the spread of his thighs look before Ironhide is suddenly moving, pulling Sunstreaker more securely onto his lap and wrapping the end of the belt once- twice around his left hand before, with a low hum of appreciation, he starts to touch. 

Sunstreaker learns that Ironhide is not only efficient, but also thorough. Not a single inch of his body goes untouched. Ironhide takes his time running his hand smoothly across the muscle of Sunstreaker's thigh up his flank, moving the hem of his shirt aside to caress the smooth skin just within the ridge of his hip. Fingers smooth across his ribs; a thumb skims an invisible line from navel to sternum, then brushes over a pebbled nipple- to which Sunstreaker cannot help but arch into, mouth opening soundlessly.

"Yer so pretty like this, Sunshine." Ironhide rumbles. The compliment goes right to Sunstreaker's cock, and he arches again, pushing his own arousal up against Ironhide. If only he could touch himself; tip over the edge. He can feel it right now- if only he could just touch, or grind, or press himself up against Ironhide, but the iron grip the other man has on the end of the belt keeps him firmly where he is, unable to touch, unable to come closer. "_Hide_." Sunstreaker says tightly, voice taut. _Controlled_. Urgent. (_<strike>Please</strike>_.)

"Ya want me ta tell ya what you look like right now?" Ironhide asks, voice roughening, accent thickening in a way that makes the hairs on Sunstreaker's arms stiffen, makes his neck prickle. Ironhide has since moved on from his left side and moved on to the right, transferring the belt to his right hand for better ease of movement. Right now, he's fixated on cataloging each individual dip of Sunstreaker's spine, and he's working from the top down, already having felt out of the bulk of the frontliner's shoulders, ruffling the baby hairs on the back of Sunstreaker's neck. The hand slips around his ribcage, and Sunstreaker can't help the needy moan when Ironhide grazes his nipple this time. "Ye-es..!" Sunstreaker says, or rather gasps.

He can practically feel Ironhide's toothy grin in the roughening of his voice, the way his fingers momentarily pause in their exploration of smooth|scarred skin before they continue, smoothing over his sternum.

"Ya look so good when you loosen up a little, Sunshine. Thighs spread, eyes closed, lips parted... Ya arch yer back so pretty." Sunstreaker does just that when Ironhide's fingers dance maddeningly across his pelvic span, so close and yet so far away. He's _teasing_. He's teasing him, and Sunstreaker can hardly stand it anymore. "Almost makes me want ta keep ya like this, gorgeous, all tied up 'n needy- Just for me."

The last comes out as a low rumble, and Sunstreaker, maddeningly hard, growls in response, dark cobalt eyes opening as he catches Ironhide's grey ones and launches himself forward, shoving Ironhide's back against the cushions as finally, _finally _their bodies come together.

His cock grinds against Ironhide, smearing drops of pre against the other man's abdominals, as does Ironhide's, but Sunstreaker hardly cares for the mess in that moment. Their mouths mash together in a clumsy, off-centered kiss, but that's easily corrected. Sunstreaker bites Ironhide's bottom lip harder than is probably comfortable, bound hands fisted in the fabric of the other man's shirt as their hips move together. 'Hide growls into Sunstreaker's mouth and gets a hand in his hair, yanking his head back so that he can gain access to the column of the frontliner's throat, which he introduces his teeth to, kissing and biting his way up to Sunstreaker's jaw, leaving behind a trail of angry red marks that quickly fade. His mouth is so very hot- Sunstreaker can’t help but moan.

They rut against one another- there is no other word to describe it, and this one is perfectly adequate to describe the almost-angry movements of their hips; the almost-unkind grip that Ironhide has on Sunstreaker's hair (an inch or two longer on top than regulation, but Ironhide is perfectly happy to exploit it in this moment); the way that Sunstreaker growls and Ironhide groans as they each approach their peaks. The plateau for both, of course, arrives when Ironhide exchanges his grip on Sunstreaker's hair to instead wrap calloused fingers around his cock— and Sunstreaker's, who cries out, arches, pushing his cock into Ironhide's grip, and comes on the spot. Ironhide isn't much longer after that, either, breath coming short and rough as he frantically strokes himself before he spills over his own fingers with a low groan.

It's a long moment before Sunstreaker finally summons the willpower to shift himself away from the sticky, rapidly-cooling mess between himself and Ironhide, and several moments more before he regains the energy to begin fussing at Ironhide about the belt, which Ironhide has conveniently laid the bulk of himself upon, thus blocking access for Sunstreaker to simply take the damn thing off himself. The conversation goes something like this: " 'Hide." "mmm." " '_Hide_." "..." "Get this fucking thing off of me!" "_Ironhide_!"

"...If I ever get out of this, I'm going to tear you a new one."

Ironhide, grumbling, eventually regains the coherence to get the restraints off, thankfully before Sunstreaker follows up on his threats, and actually spends a while rubbing the red marks from a sulky Sunstreaker's wrists, thumbs smoothing up and down the graceful length of his wrists. They move up Sunstreaker's unscathed forearms, upper arms, and eventually shoulders to dig deep into massaging the muscle- an unnecessary gesture, but one that has the golden-haired frontliner purring and content within the space of about 10 minutes, and mostly-asleep in 5 more. Mission accomplished, Ironhide settles down next to the frontliner, jostling him just enough to ensure that they both have enough space on the couch to lie comfortably (a feat, considering that neither of them could be considered petite), ignoring the drying mess smelted across either of their stomachs. It's when he's about to drift into sleep that Sunstreaker speaks, quietly enough that Ironhide almost misses it: 

"Did you really mean it?"

Ironhide blinks. "What?"

There's a decently long silence. Ironhide's almost convinced that Sunstreaker's keeping it to himself or has fallen asleep when the other raises his voice again: "You think I'm- pretty." Ironhide reads into the tone, not a question, but not quite a statement either, and that brief second of hesitation, taking it apart and comparing it to the sum of what he knows of Sunstreaker's parts. When he responds, it has none of the grudging undertones that normally accompany his compliments ('yeah, kid- you did good.'): just honesty, the genuine, non-judgmental honesty that he knows Sunstreaker craves. 

"Yeah, kid. I do."

**Author's Note:**

> This is filth sorry. Also— Wow this is way longer than I originally planned? Like three times longer?? Oops. Roughly (VERY roughly) ties in to 'admit it' as part of my humanformers AU as part of my 'pairing Ironhide with unusual partners' series (jk ...maybe.). 
> 
> COMMENTS WELCOME!


End file.
